Heretic

Thomas woke with a start, realizing there was a man standing above him. It was a tall man, his looming height outlined against the pale light of dawn showing in the hut doorway. Thomas instinctively twisted away and reached for his sword, but the man stepped back and made a hushing sound. I did not mean to wake you. he said softly in a voice that was deep and held no threat. Thomas sat up to see it was a monk who had spoken. He could not see the monk's face for it was dark in the hut, but then the tall, white-robed man stepped forward again to peer at Genevieve. How is your friend?" he asked.

Genevieve was sleeping. A strand of golden hair shivered at her mouth with every breath. She was feeling better last night. Thomas said softly.

That's good. the monk said fervently, then stepped back again to the doorway. He had picked up Thomas's bow as he stooped to look at Genevieve and now he examined the bow in the thin grey light. Thomas, as ever, felt uncomfortable when a stranger handled the weapon, but he said nothing and, after a while, the monk propped the bow against Brother Clement's medicine table. I would like to talk with you. the monk said. Shall we meet in the cloisters in a few moments?"

It was a cold morning. A dew lay on the grass between the olive trees and on the lawn in the cloister's centre. There was a circular communal trough at one corner of the cloisters where the monks, with one prayer service already behind them, splashed their faces and hands, and Thomas first looked for the tall monk among the washing men, but then saw him sitting on a low wall between two pillars of the southern arcade. The monk gestured to him and Thomas saw that he was very old, with a face deeply lined and somehow full of kindness. Your friend,“ the old monk said when Thomas joined him, is in excellent hands. Brother Clement is a most skilled healer, but he and Brother Ramon don't agree about things, so I have to keep them apart. Ramon looks after the infir mary and Clement tends the lepers. Ramon is a proper physician, trained at Montpellier, so of course we have to defer to him, but he seems to have no remedies other than prayer and copious bleeding. He uses them for every ailment, while Brother Clement, I suspect, uses his own kind of magic. I should probably disap prove of that, but I am forced to say that if I was sick I would prefer Brother Clement to treat me.” He smiled at Thomas. My name is Planchard."

The abbot?"

Indeed. And you are most welcome to our house. I am sorry I could not greet you yesterday. And Brother Clement tells me you were alarmed at being in the lazar house? There's no need. My experience is that the condition is not promoted by contact with others. I have been visiting the lepers for forty years and have yet to lose a finger, and Brother Clement lives and worships with them and he has never been touched by the disease.“ The abbot paused and made the sign of the cross and Thomas at first thought the old man was warding off the evil thought of catching leprosy, then he saw that Planchard was looking at something across the cloister. He followed the Abbot's gaze and saw a body being carried on a stretcher. It was obviously a corpse for the face was covered with a white cloth and there was a crucifix balanced on the chest which fell off after a few steps so that the monks had to stop and retrieve it. We had excitement here last night. Planchard said mildly. Excitement?”

You probably heard the bell? It was rung too late, I fear. Two men came to the monastery after dark. Our gate is never shut, so they had no trouble entering. They tied the gatekeeper hand and foot, then went to the infirmary. The Count of Berat was there. He was attended by his squire and three of his men-at-arms who had survived a horrid little fight in the next valley,“ the Abbot waved a hand towards the west, but if he knew or suspected that Thomas had been involved in that fight, he made no comment, and one of the men-at-arms was sleeping in the Count's chamber. He woke up when the killers came, and so he died and then the Count's throat was cut and the two killers ran for their lives.” The old abbot recounted these events in a flat voice, as though foul murders were commonplace in Saint Sevet's.

The Count of Berat?" Thomas asked.

A sad man. Planchard said. I quite liked him, but I fear he was one of God's fools. He was astonishingly learned, but possessed no sense. He was a hard master to his tenants, but good to the Church. I used to think he was trying to buy his way into heaven, but actually he was seeking a son and God never rewarded that desire. Poor man, poor man.“ Planchard stared as the dead Count was carried to the gatehouse, then smiled gently at Thomas. Some of my monks insisted you must be the murderer.” Me!" Thomas exclaimed.

I know it was not you. Planchard said. The real murderers were seen leaving. Galloping into the night.“ He shook his head. But the brothers can get very excited and, alas, our house has been much disturbed of late. Forgive me, I did not ask your name.” Thomas."

A good name. Just Thomas?"

Thomas of Hookton."

That sounds very English. Planchard said. And you are what? A soldier?"

An archer."

Not a friar?“ Planchard asked in grave amusement. Thomas half smiled. You know about that?”

I know that an English archer called Thomas went to Castillon d'Arbizon dressed as a friar. I know he spoke good Latin. I know he took the castle, and I know that he then spread misery in the countryside. I know he caused many tears, Thomas, many tears. Folk who struggled all their lives to build something for their children saw it burned in minutes."

Thomas did not know what to say. He stared at the grass. You must know more than that. he said after a while.

I know that you and your companion are excommunicated. Planchard said.

Then I should not be here. Thomas said, gesturing at the cloister. I was excluded from holy precincts,“ he added bitterly. You are here at my invitation,” Planchard said mildly, and if God disapproves of that invitation then it will not be long before he has a chance to demand an explanation from me." Thomas looked at the abbot who endured his scrutiny patiently. There was something about Planchard, Thomas thought, that reminded him of his own father, though without the madness. But there was a saintliness and a wisdom and an authority in the old lined face and Thomas knew he liked this man. Liked him very much. He looked away. I was protecting Genevieve. he muttered, explaining away his excommunication.

The beghard?"

She's no beghard. Thomas said.

I would be surprised if she was. Planchard said, for I very much doubt if there are any beghards in these parts. Those heretics congregate in the north. What are they called? The Brethren of the Free Spirit. And what is it they believe? That everything comes from God, so everything is good! It's a beguiling idea, is it not? Except when they say everything they mean exactly that, every thing. Every sin, every deed, every theft.

Genevieve is no beghard. Thomas repeated the denial, though the firmness of his tone did not reflect any conviction. I'm sure she's a heretic. Planchard said mildly, but which of us is not? And yet. his mild tone vanished as his voice became stern," she is also a murderer.

Which of us is not?" Thomas echoed.

Planchard grimaced. She killed Father Roubert.“ Who had tortured her. Thomas said. He drew up his sleeve and showed the abbot the burn scars on his arm. I too killed my torturer and he too was a Dominican.”

The abbot gazed up at the sky that was clouding over. Thomas's confession of murder did not seem to disturb him, indeed his next words even suggested he was ignoring it completely. I was reminded the other day. he said, of one of the psalms of David. Dominus reget me et nihil mihi deerit."

In loco pascuae ibi conlocavit," Thomas finished the quotation. I can see why they thought you were a friar. Planchard said,

amused. But the implication of the psalm, is it not, is that we are sheep and that God is our shepherd? Why else would He put us in a pasture and protect us with a staff? But what I have never fully understood is why the shepherd blames the sheep when they become ill."

God blames us?"

Icannot speak for God,“ Planchard said, only for the Church. What did Christ say? Ego sum pastor bonus, bonus pastor animam suam dat pro ovibus.”“ He paid Thomas the compliment of not translating the words which meant: I am the good shepherd and the good shepherd gives his life for the sheep.” And the Church,“ Planchard went on, continues Christ's ministry, or it is supposed to, yet some churchmen are sadly enthusiastic about culling their flock.” And you are not?"

I am not,“ Planchard said firmly, but don't let that weakness in me persuade you that I approve of you. I do not approve of you, Thomas, and I do not approve of your woman, but nor can I approve of a Church that uses pain to bring the love of God to a sinful world. Evil begets evil, it spreads like a weed, but good works are tender shoots that need husbandry.” He thought for a while, then smiled at Thomas. But my duty is clear enough, is it not? I should give both of you to the Bishop of Berat and let his fire do God's work."

And you,“ Thomas said bitterly, are a man who does his duty.” I am a man who tries, God help me, to be good. To be what Christ wanted us to be. Duty is sometimes imposed by others and we must always examine it to see if it helps us to be good. I do not approve of you, either of you, but nor do I see what good will come from burning you. So I will do my duty to my conscience which does not instruct me to send you to the bishop's fire. Besides,“ he smiled again, burning you would be an awful waste of Brother Clement's endeavours. He tells me he is calling a bone-setter from the village and she will try to repair your Genevieve's rib, though Brother Clement warns me that ribs are very hard to mend.” Brother Clement talked to you?“ Thomas asked, surprised. Dear me, no! Poor Brother Clement can't talk at all! He was a galley slave once. The Mohammedans captured him in a raid on Leghorn, I think, or was it Sicily? They tore his tongue out, I assume because he insulted them, and then they cut off some thing else which is why, I suspect, he became a monk after he was rescued by a Venetian galley. Now he tends to the beehives and looks after our lepers. And how do we talk to each other? Well, he points and he gestures and he makes drawings in the dust and somehow we manage to understand one another.”

So what will you do with us?" Thomas asked.

Do? Me? I shall do nothing! Except pray for you and to say farewell when you leave. But I would like to know why you are here."

Because I was excommunicated,“ Thomas said bitterly, and my companions wanted nothing more to do with me.” I mean why you came to Gascony in the first place," Planchard asked patiently.

The Earl of Northampton sent me,“ Thomas said. I see. Planchard said, his tone implying he knew Thomas was evading the question. And the Earl had his reasons, did he?” Thomas said nothing. He saw Philin across the cloister and raised a hand in greeting and the coredor smiled back; the smile suggesting that his son, like Genevieve, was recovering from the arrow wound. Planchard persisted. The Earl had reasons, Thomas?“ Castillon d'Arbizon was once his property. He wanted it back.” It was his property,“ Planchard said tartly, for a very short time, and I cannot think that the Earl is so bereft of land that he needs send men to defend an insignificant town in Gascony, especially after a truce was signed at Calais. He must have sent you to break that truce for a very special reason, don't you think?” He paused, then smiled at Thomas's obduracy. Do you know any more of that psalm which begins Dominus reget me?"

Some," Thomas said vaguely.

Then perhaps you know the words calix meus inebrians?“ My cup makes me drunk,” Thomas said.

Because I looked at your bow this morning, Thomas,“ Planchard said, out of nothing but idle curiosity. I have heard so much about the English war bow, but I have not seen one for many years. But yours, I noticed, had something which I suspect most bows do not. A silver plate. And on the plate, young man, was the badge of the Vexilles.”

My father was a Vexille. Thomas said.

So you're nobly born?"

Bastard born,“ Thomas said. He was a priest.” Your father was a priest?“ Planchard sounded surprised. A priest. Thomas confirmed, in England.”

I heard some of the Vexilles had fled there,“ Planchard said, but that was many years ago. Before my memories begin. So why does a Vexille return to Astarac?”

Thomas said nothing. Monks were going to work, carrying hoes and stakes out of the gate. Where were they taking the dead Count?“ he asked, trying to evade the abbot's question. He must go to Berat, of course, to be buried with his ancestrs,” Planchard said, and his body will be stinking by the time it gets to the cathedral. I remember when his father was buried: the smell was so bad that most of the mourners fled into the open air. Now, what was my question? Ah yes, why does a Vexille return to Astarac?"

Why not?" Thomas answered.

Planchard stood and beckoned him. Let me show you something, Thomas." He led Thomas to the abbey church where, as he

entered, the abbot dipped his finger into the stoup of holy water and made the sign of the cross as he genuflected towards the high altar. Thomas, almost for the first time in his life, did not make the same obeisance. He was excommunicated. The old things had no power for him now because he had been cut off from them. He followed the abbot across the wide empty nave to an alcove behind a side altar and there Planchard unlocked a small door with a big key. It will be dark downstairs,“ the old man warned, and I have no lantern, so step carefully.”

A dim light found its way down the stairs and when Thomas reached the bottom Planchard held up a hand. Wait here. he said, and I will bring you something. It is too dark to see in the treasury." Thomas waited. His eyes became accustomed to the gloom and he saw there were eight arched openings in the undercroft and then he saw that it was not just a vault, but an ossuary and the realization made him take a step back in sudden horror. The arches were stacked with bones. Skulls gazed at him. At the eastern end there was an arch only half filled, the rest of its space waiting for the brethren who prayed each day in the church above. This was the cellar of the dead; heaven's ante chamber.

He heard the click of a lock turning, then the abbot's footsteps returned and Planchard held out a wooden box. Take it to the light. he said, and look at it. The Count tried to steal it from me, but when he returned here with the fever I took it back from him. Can you see it properly?"

Thomas held the box up to the small light that came down the stairwell. He could see that the box was old, that its wood had dried out, and that it had once been painted inside and out, but then, on the front, he saw the remnants of the words he knew so well, the words that had haunted him ever since his father had died: Calix Meus Inebrians.

It is said. the Abbot took the box back from Thomas, that it was found in a precious reliquary on the altar of the chapel in the Vexille castle. But it was empty when it was found, Thomas. Do you understand that?"

It was empty. Thomas repeated.

I think I know. Planchard said, what brings a Vexille to Astarac, but there is nothing here for you, Thomas, nothing at all. The box was empty.“ He put the box back, locked the heavy chest and led Thomas back up to the church. He secured the treasury door, then beckoned Thomas to sit with him on a stone ledge that ran all around the otherwise bare nave. The box was empty. the abbot insisted, though no doubt you are thinking it was filled once. And I think you came here to find the thing that filled it.” Thomas nodded. He was watching two novices sweep the church, their birch bristles making small scratching noises on the wide flagstones. I also came. he said, to find the man who killed, who murdered my father."

You know who did that?"

My cousin. Guy Vexille. I'm told he calls himself the Count of Astarac."

And you think he is here?" Planchard sounded surprised. I have never heard of such a man.

I think that if he knows I am here. Thomas said, then he'll come.

And you will kill him?"

Question him. Thomas said. I want to know why he thought my father possessed the Grail."

And did your father possess it?"

I don't know. Thomas said truthflly. I think he may have believed he did. But he was also mad at times.“ Mad?” The question was asked very gently.

He didn't worship God. Thomas said, but fought him. He pleaded, shouted, screamed and wept at God. He saw most things very clearly, but God confused him."

And you?" Planchard asked.

I'm an archer. Thomas said, I have to see things very clearly.“ Your father. Planchard said, opened the door to God and was dazzled, while you keep the door shut?”

Maybe. Thomas said defensively.

So what is it, Thomas, that you hope to achieve if you find the Grail?"

Peace. Thomas said. And justice. It was not an answer he had thought about, but almost a dismissal of Planchard's question. A soldier who seeks peace. Planchard said, amused. You are full of contradictions. You have burned and killed and stolen to make peace." He held up a hand to still Thomas's protest. I have to tell you, Thomas, that I think it would be best if the Grail were not found. If I were to discover it I would hurl it into the deepest sea, down among the monsters, and tell no one. But if another person finds it, then it will merely be another trophy in the wars of ambitious men. Kings will fight for it, men like you will die because of it, churches will grow rich on it, and there will be no peace. But I don't know that. Maybe you're right? Maybe the Grail will usher in an age of plenty and peacefulness, and I pray it does. Yet the discovery of the crown of thorns brought no such splendurs, and why should the Grail be more powerful than our dear

Lord's thorns? We have vials of his blood in Flanders and England, yet they do not bring peace. Is the Grail more precious than his blood?"

Some men think so. Thomas said uncomfortably.

And those men will kill like beasts to possess it. Planchard said. They will kill with all the pity of a wolf savaging a lamb, and you tell me it will bring peace?“ He sighed. Yet perhaps you're right. Perhaps this is the time for the Grail to be found. We need a miracle.”

To bring peace?"

Planchard shook his head. He said nothing for a while, just stared at the two sweepers and looked very solemn and immensely sad. I have not told this to anyone, Thomas,“ he broke his long silence, and you would be wise to tell no one either. In time we shall all know and by then it will be too late. But not long ago I received a letter from a brother house in Lombardy and our world is about to change utterly.”

Because of the Grail?"

I wish it were so. No, because there is a contagion in the east. A dreadful contagion, a pestilence that spreads like smoke, that kills whoever it touches and spares no one. It is a plague, Thomas, that has been sent to harrow us.“ Planchard gazed ahead, watching the dust dance in a shaft of slanting sunlight that came down from one of the high, clear windows. Such a contagion must be the devil's work,” the abbot went on, making the sign of the cross, and it is horrid work. My brother abbot reports that in some towns of Umbria as many as half the folk have died and he advises me to bar my gates and allow no travellers inside, but how can I do that? We are here to help people, not to shut them away from God.“ He looked higher, as if seeking divine aid among the great beams of the roof. A darkness is coming, Thomas. he said, and it is a darkness as great as any mankind has ever seen. Perhaps, if you find the Grail, it will give light to that darkness.” Thomas thought of Genevieve's vision beneath the lightning, of a great darkness in which there was a point of brilliance. I have always thought. Planchard went on, that the search for the Grail was a madness, a hunt for a chimera that would bring no good, only evil, but now I learn that everything is going to change. Everything. Perhaps we shall require a wondrous symbol of God's love.“ He sighed. I have even been tempted to wonder whether this coming pestilence is sent by God. Perhaps he burns us out, purges us, so that those who are spared will do His will. I don't know.” He shook his head sadly. What will you do when your Genevieve is well?"

I came here. Thomas said, to find out all I could about Astarac.“ Of the beginning and end of man's labours. Planchard said with a smile, there is no end. Would you resent advice?” Of course not."

Then go far away, Thomas,“ the abbot said firmly, go far away. I do not know who killed the Count of Berat, but it is not hard to guess. He had a nephew, a stupid but strong man, whom you took prisoner. I doubt the Count would have ransomed him, but now the nephew is himself the Count and can arrange his own ransom. And if he seeks what his uncle sought then he will kill any rival, and that means you, Thomas. So take care. And you must go soon.” I am unwelcome here?"

You are most welcome,“ Planchard insisted, both of you. But this morning the Count's squire went to report his master's death and the boy will know you are here. You and the girl. He may not know your names, but the two of you are . . . what shall I say? Noticeable? So if anyone wants to kill you, Thomas, they will know where to look for you. Which is why I tell you to go far away. This house has seen enough murder and I want no more.” He stood and placed a gentle hand on Thomas's head. Bless you, my son," he said, then walked out of the church. And Thomas felt the darkness closing.

Joscelyn was the Count of Berat.

He kept remembering that, and each remembrance gave him a surge of pure joy. Count of Berat! Lord of money.

Villesisle and his companion had returned from Astarac with news that the old man had died in his sleep. Before we even reached the monastery,“ Villesisle told Joscelyn in front of Robbie and Sir Guillaume, though later, in private, he confessed that things had not gone quite so well and that blood had been shed. You're a fool,” Joscelyn snarled. What did I tell you?“ To stifle him.”

So you drench the damn room with his blood instead?“ We didn't have a choice,” Villesisle claimed sullenly. One of his men-at-arms was there and tried to fight. But what does it matter? The old man's dead, isn't he?"

He was dead. Dead and rotting, and that was what really mattered. The fourteenth Count of Berat was on his way to heaven or to hell and so the county of Berat with its castles, fiefs, towns, serfs, farmlands and hoarded coin all belonged to Joscelyn. Joscelyn possessed a new authority when he met with Robbie and Sir Guillaume. Before, when he had been wondering whether or not his uncle would ransom him, he had done his best to be courteous for his future depended on the goodwill of his captors, but now, though he was not rude to them, he was aloof and that was fitting for they were mere adventurers and he was one of the richest nobles of southern France. My ransom,“ he declared flatly, is twenty thousand florins.”

Forty. Sir Guillaume insisted immediately.

He's my prisoner!“ Robbie turned on Sir Guillaume. So?” Sir Guillaume bridled. You'll settle for twenty when he's worth forty?"

I'll settle for twenty," Robbie said and it was, in truth, a fortune, a ransom worthy of a royal duke. In English money it would be close to three thousand pounds, sufficient to set a man up in luxury for life.

And three thousand florins more,“ Joscelyn offered, for the captured horses and my men-at-arms.”

Agreed,“ Robbie said before Sir Guillaume could object. Sir Guillaume was disgusted at Robbie's ready acceptance. The Norman knew the twenty thousand florins was a fine ransom, more than he had ever dared hope for as he had watched the few horsemen approach the ford and the waiting ambush, but even so he believed that Robbie had acquiesced far too quickly. It usually took months to negotiate a ransom, months of haggling, of messengers carrying offer and counter-offer and rejection and threat, yet Joscelyn and Robbie had settled the whole thing in moments. So now,” Sir Guillaume said, watching Joscelyn, you stay here until the money arrives."

Then I shall stay here for ever,“ Joscelyn said calmly. I have to enter into my inheritance,” he explained, before the money will be released."

So I just let you go?“ Sir Guillaume asked scornfully. I'll go with him,” Robbie said.

Sir Guillaume looked at the Scotsman, then back to Joscelyn, and he saw allies. It must have been Robbie, Sir Guillaume thought, who had taken down Joscelyn's reversed shield, a gesture the Norman had noticed, but decided to ignore. You'll go with him,“ he said flatly, and he's your prisoner, eh?”

He's my prisoner," Robbie said.

But I command here,“ Sir Guillaume insisted, and a share of the ransom is mine. Ours.” He waved a hand to indicate the rest of the garrison.

It will be paid," Robbie said.

Sir Guillaume looked into Robbie's eyes and saw a young man who would not meet his gaze, a young man whose allegiances were uncertain, who proposed riding to Berat with Joscelyn. Sir Guillaume suspected Robbie would not come back and so the Norman went to the niche where the crucifix hung, the same crucifix that Thomas had held in front of Genevieve's eyes. He took it from the wall and laid it on the table in front of Robbie. Swear on that. he demanded, that our share will be paid.“ I do so swear it,” Robbie said solemnly and laid his hand on the cross. By God and my mother's own life, I swear it." Joscelyn, watching, seemed amused.

Sir Guillaume gave in. He knew he could have kept Joscelyn and the other prisoners, and that in the end a means of conveying all the ransom money would be found if he did keep them, but he also knew that he would face weeks of unrest. Robbie's supporters, and there were many of them, especially among the routiers who had joined the garrison, would claim that by waiting he risked losing all the money, or else they would suggest that he was planning to take the cash and cheat them, and Robbie would encourage that unrest and in the end the garrison would fall apart. It was probably going to fall apart anyway for, without Thomas, there was no compelling reason to stay. The men had never known that the Grail was their quest, but they had sensed Thomas's urgency, sensed that he had a cause, and that what they did had a meaning; now, Sir Guillaume knew, they were just another band of routiers who were lucky enough to hold a castle. None of them would stay long, Sir Guillaume thought. Even if Robbie did not pay his share Sir Guillaume could still ride away much richer than he had arrived, but if Robbie kept faith then Sir Guillaume would have enough money to raise the men he needed to gain his revenge on those who had stolen his lands in Normandy.

I expect the money to be here within a week. Sir Guillaume said.

Two. Joscelyn said.

One week!"

I shall try. Joscelyn said off-handedly.

Sir Guillaume pushed the crucifix across the table. One week!" Joscelyn looked at Sir Guillaume for a long time, then placed a finger on the broken body of Christ. If you insist. he said. One week.

Joscelyn left next morning. He rode in full armour, his banner, horses and men-at-arms restored to him, and with him rode Robbie Douglas and sixteen other men-at-arms, all of them Gascons who had served Thomas, but who now preferred to take gold from the Count of Berat. Sir Guillaume was left with the men who had come to Castillon d'Arbizon, but at least that meant he had the archers. He stood on the castle's topmost rampart and watched Joscelyn ride away. John Faircloth, the English man-at arms, joined him there. Is he leaving us?" he asked, meaning Robbie.

Sir Guillaume nodded. He's leaving us. We'll not see him again.“ So what do we do?” Faircloth asked, in French this time. Wait for the money, then go."

Just go?"

What else in God's name can we do? The Earl of Northampton doesn't want this town, John. He'll never send anyone to help us. If we stay here, we die."

And we go or die without the Grail. Faircloth said. Is that why the Earl sent us here? He knew about the Grail?" Sir Guillaume nodded. The knights of the round table. he said, amused, that's us.

And we abandon the search?"

It's a madness. Sir Guillaume said forcefully, a goddamned madness. It doesn't exist, but Thomas thought it might and the Earl thought it worth an effort. But it's pure moonstruck idiocy. And Robbie's caught up in it now, but he won't find it because it isn't there to be found. There's just us and too many enemies, so we'll take our money and go home."

What if they don't send the money?“ Faircloth asked. There's honour, isn't there?” Sir Guillaume said. I mean we plunder, thieve, rape and kill, but we never cheat each other over ransoms. Sweet Jesus! No one could ever trust anyone else if that happened.“ He paused, staring at Joscelyn and his entourage who had stopped at the valley's end. Look at the bastards,” he said, just watching us. Wondering how to get us out of here.“ The horsemen were indeed taking a last look at Castillon d'Arbizon's tower. Joscelyn saw the impudent standard of the Earl of Northampton lift and fall in the small breeze, then he spat onto the road. Are you really going to send them money?” he asked Robbie.

Robbie looked startled at the question. Of course," he said. Once he had been paid the agreed ransom then honour insisted that he would have to pass on Sir Guillaume's share. It had never occurred to him to do otherwise.

But they fly the flag of my enemy,“ Joscelyn pointed out. So if you send them the money, what's to stop me taking it back?” He looked at Robbie, waiting for a response.

Robbie tried to work out the ramifications of the suggestion, testing them against his honour, but so long as the money was sent, he thought, then honour was satisfied. They didn't ask for a truce," he said hesitantly, and it was the answer Joscelyn wanted because it suggested Joscelyn could start a fight the moment the money was paid. He smiled and rode on.

They reached Berat that evening. A man-at-arms had ridden ahead, warning the town of their new lord's approach, and a delegation of consuls and priests met Joscelyn a half-mile from the eastern gate. They knelt to welcome him and the priests presented the Count with some of the cathedral's precious relics. There was a rung from Jacob's ladder, the bones of one of the fishes used to feed the five thousand, Saint Gudule's sandal, and a nail used to crucify one of the two thieves who had died with Christ. All had been gifts to the town from the old Count, and now the new Count was expected to dismount and pay the precious relics, all encased in silver or gold or crystal, due reverence. Joscelyn knew what he was expected to do, but instead he leaned on his pommel and glowered at the priests. Where is the bishop?“ he demanded. He is ill, lord.”

Too ill to welcome me?"

He is sick, lord, very sick," one of the priests said, and Joscelyn stared at the man for an instant, then abruptly accepted the expla nation. He dismounted, knelt briefly, made the sign of the cross towards the proffered relics, then nodded curtly at the consuls who held out the town's ceremonial keys on a cushion of green velvet. Joscelyn was supposed to take the keys and then return them with a kind word, but he was hungry and thirsty so he clambered up into his saddle and spurred past the kneeling consuls. The cavalcade entered the town by its western gate where the guards went on their knees to their new lord, and then the horsemen climbed to the saddle between the two hills on which Berat was built. To their left now, on the lower hill, was the cathedral, a long, low church that lacked tower or spire, while to their right a cobbled street stretched to the castle on the taller hill. The street was hung with painted signs that forced the horsemen to ride in single file, while on either side of them the citizens knelt and called out blessings. One woman strewed vine leaves on the cobbles while a tavern-keeper offered a tray of wine pots that got spilled when Joscelyn's horse sidled into the man.

The street opened into the marketplace, which was dirty with trampled vegetables and stinking from the dung of cows, sheep and goats. The castle was ahead now and its gates swung open as the guards recognized the banner of Berat carried by Joscelyn's squire.

Then it all became confusing for Robbie. His horse was taken by a servant and he was eventually given a room in the east tower where there was a bed and a fire, and later that evening there was a raucous feast to which the dowager Countess was invited. She proved to be a small, plump and pretty girl, and at the feast's end Joscelyn took her by the wrist and led her to his new bed chamber, the old Count's room, and Robbie stayed in the hall where the men-at-arms stripped three serving girls naked and took their turns with them. Others, encouraged by Joscelyn before he disappeared, were dragging bundles of old parchments from the shelves and feeding them to the big fire that blazed mightily and bright. Sir Henri Courtois watched, said nothing, but became as drunk as Robbie.

Next morning the rest of the shelves were emptied. The books were thrown out of a window into the castle yard where a new fire burned. The shelves were hacked down and followed the books and parchments out of the window. Joscelyn, in high spirits, super vised the room's cleansing, and in between he received visitors. Some had been servants of his uncle: the huntsmen, armourers, cellarers and clerks who wanted to make sure their jobs were safe. Some were lesser lords from his new domain who came to swear fealty by placing their hands between the Count's, swearing the oath of allegiance and then receiving the kiss that made them Joscelyn's own men. There were petitioners wanting justice and even more desperate men who had been owed money by the late Count and who now dared hope that his nephew would honour the debts. There were a dozen priests from the town who wanted the new Count to give them money to say Masses for his uncle's soul and Berat's consuls climbed the stairs in their red and blue robes with arguments why the town's tax yield should be lower; and amidst it all Joscelyn was roaring at his men to burn more books, to feed more parchments to the fire, and when a young and nervous monk appeared to protest that he had not yet finished searching the muniments, Joscelyn chased him from the hall and so found the monk's lair, which was full of still more documents. All were burned, leaving the monk in tears.

It was then, as the newly discovered hoard of parchments was flaring high to scatter burning scraps throughout the courtyard and threaten the thatched roof of the castle's mews, that the bishop, apparently not sick at all, arrived. He came with a dozen other clergymen, and with them was Michel, the old Count's squire. The bishop hammered his staff on the cobblestones to get Joscelyn's attention and when the new Count deigned to notice him the bishop pointed the staff at Joscelyn. A hush fell over the courtyard as men realized a drama was unfolding. Joscelyn, the fire gleaming from his round face, looked belligerent. What do you want?" he demanded of the bishop who had not, he thought, shown sufficient deference.

I want to know. the bishop demanded, how your uncle died.“ Joscelyn took a few paces towards the deputation, the sound of his boots echoing from the castle walls. There were at least a hundred men in the courtyard and some of them, having suspected that the old Count had been murdered, made the sign of the cross, but Joscelyn looked quite unconcerned. He died,” he said loudly, in his sleep, of a sickness."

It is a strange sickness,“ the Bishop said, that leaves a man with a slit throat.”

A murmur sounded in the yard and swelled to a roar of indig nation. Sir Henri Courtois and some of the old Count's men-at arms put hands to their sword hilts, but Joscelyn was equal to the challenge. What do you accuse me of?“ he snarled at the bishop. I accuse you of nothing,” the bishop said. He was not willing to pick a fight with the new Count, not yet, but instead attacked through Joscelyn's hirelings. But I do accuse your men. This man,“ he drew Michel forward,” saw them cut your uncle's throat.“ A murmur of disgust sounded in the yard and some of the men at-arms moved towards Sir Henri Courtois as if assuring him of their support. Joscelyn ignored the protest and instead looked for Villesisle. I sent you,” he said loudly, to seek an audience with my dear uncle. And now I hear that you killed him?“ Villesisle was so taken aback by the accusation that he said nothing. He just shook his head in denial, but so uncertainly that every man there was sure of his guilt. You want justice, bishop?” Joscelyn called over his shoulder.

Your uncle's blood cries for it,“ the bishop said, and the legitimacy of your inheritance depends on it.”

Joscelyn drew his sword. He was not in armour, just breeches, boots and a belted woollen jerkin, while Villesisle wore a leather coat that would be proof against most sword strokes, but Joscelyn jerked his blade to indicate that Villesisle should draw his own weapon. A trial by combat, bishop," he said.

Villesisle backed away. I only did what you . . .“ he began, then had to retreat fast because Joscelyn had attacked him with two quick strokes. Villesisle became frightened that this was no dumb show put on to placate a troublesome bishop, but a real fight. He drew his sword. My lord,” he pleaded with Joscelyn. Make it look good. Joscelyn said softly, and we can sort every thing out afterwards."

Villesisle felt a surge of relief, then grinned and made an attack of his own that Joscelyn parried. The watching men were fanning out to make a half-circle around the fire in front of which the two men could fight. Villesisle was no novice, he had fought in tour naments and skirmishes, but he was wary of Joscelyn who was taller and stronger, and Joscelyn attacked now, making use of those advantages, scything his sword in massive strokes that Villesisle parried desperately. Each clash of blades echoed twice, once from the castle's curtain wall and once from the big keep, one triple ring fading as the next began, and Villesisle was backing away, backing away, and then he leaped aside to let one of Joscelyn's murderous cuts waste itself on the smoky air and immediately pressed forward, lunging with the point, but Joscelyn had been waiting for it and he turned the lunge and bulled forward, throwing Villesisle off his feet so that he sprawled on the cobbles and Joscelyn loomed over him. I might have to imprison you after this. he said almost in a whisper, but not for long.“ Then he raised his voice. I ordered you to go and talk with my uncle. Do you deny it?”

Villesisle was happy to play along with the deception. I do not deny it, lord. he said.

Say it again!“ Joscelyn ordered. Louder!” I do not deny it, lord!"

Yet you cut his throat. Joscelyn said, and he motioned for Villesisle to stand and, once his opponent was up, he moved fast forward, scything the sword, and again the triple rings sounded in the yard. The swords were heavy, the strokes clumsy, yet the men watching reckoned Joscelyn had the greater skill, though Sir Henri Courtois wondered whether Villesisle was using all his skill. He slashed now, but did not try to close on his opponent and it was no trouble for Joscelyn to step back. The burning books and parchments roared beside him, starting sweat from his forehead and he cuffed it away. If I draw blood from this man, bishop. Joscelyn called out, will you take that as a sign of his guilt?“ I will. the Bishop said, but it will not be sufficient punishment.” The punishment can wait for God to give. Joscelyn said and he grinned at Villesisle who grinned back. Then Joscelyn stepped carelessly towards his opponent, opening his right side to a blow; Villesisle understood he was being invited to make a swing and so give the appearance that the fight was real and he obliged, swinging his great, awkward blade in the expectation that Joscelyn would parry it, but instead Joscelyn stepped back and used his sword to propel the blow onwards so that Villesisle was spun around, carried by the heavy blade's momentum and Joscelyn, cold-eyed and quick as lightning, brought his own blade back and gave it the merest flick of a wrist and the tip of the sword sliced into Villesisle's throat. It stuck there, caught on Villesisle's gullet, and Joscelyn pushed it forward, twisted the steel, pushed again and he was smiling as he did it and the blood was streaming down the blade, cascading from its edges and Joscelyn still smiled as Villesisle, a look of utter astonishment on his face, fell to his knees. His sword fell with a clang. Breath was bubbling red at the rent in his throat and now Joscelyn gave the sword a great shove so that it tore down into Villesisle's chest. The dying man was caught there, suspended by the sword that had been rammed down his windpipe, and then Joscelyn gave the blade another twist, put both hands on the hilt and ripped the steel free with a monstrous heave that made Villesisle's body shudder and blood fountain up across Joscelyn's arms.

The spectators let out a breath as Villesisle fell sideways and died. His blood trickled between the yard's cobbles to hiss where it met the fire.

Joscelyn turned and looked for the second man, Villesisle's murderous companion, and that man tried to run, but he was caught by the other men-at-arms and thrust into the open space where he fell to his knees and begged Joscelyn for mercy. He wants mercy,“ Joscelyn called to the bishop. Would you give it to him?”

He deserves justice," the bishop said.

Joscelyn wiped his bloody sword on the skirts of his jerkin, then sheathed it and looked at Sir Henri Courtois. Hang him," he ordered curtly.

Lord . . ." the man began an appeal, but Joscelyn turned and kicked him in the mouth so hard that he dislocated the man's jaw and, when the man recovered his balance, Joscelyn raked his foot back, half tearing off an ear with his spur. Then, in an apparent paroxysm of rage, Jocelyn leaned down to haul the bleeding man upright. He held him at arm's length for a heartbeat and then, with all the strength of a man trained to the tournament, he threw him backwards. The man screamed as he tripped and fell into the fire. His clothes flared. The spectators gasped, some even looked away as the burning man tried to stagger free of the flames, but Joscelyn, risking being burned himself, thrust him back in. The man screamed again. His hair caught fire and blazed bright, he jerked in terrible spasms and then collapsed into the hottest part of the fire.

Joscelyn turned on the bishop. Satisfied?" he asked, then walked away, brushing embers from his sleeves.

The bishop was not done. He caught up with Joscelyn in the great hall, which had now been stripped of its books and shelves, and where the new Count, thirsty after his exertions, was pouring himself red wine from a jug. Joscelyn turned a sour look on the bishop.

The heretics. the Bishop said. They are in Astarac.“ There are probably heretics everywhere,” Joscelyn said carelessly. The girl who killed Father Roubert is there. the bishop insisted, and the man who refused our orders to burn her.“ Joscelyn remembered the golden-haired girl in the silver armour. That girl. he said, interest in his voice, then he drained the cup and poured another. How do you know they're there?” he asked.

Michel was there. He was told by the monks."

Ah yes. Joscelyn said, Michel. He stalked towards his uncle's squire with murder in his eyes. Michel. Joscelyn said, who tells stories. Michel who runs to the bishop instead of coming to his new lord."

Michel hurriedly stepped back, but the bishop saved him by stepping in front of Joscelyn. Michel serves me now. he said, and to lay a hand on him is to attack the Church.“ So if I kill him, as he deserves. Joscelyn sneered, you'll burn me, eh?” He spat towards Michel, then turned away, So what do you want?" he asked the bishop.

I want the heretics captured. the bishop said. He was nervous of this new and violent Count, but he forced himself to be brave. I demand in the name of God and in the service of His Holy Church that you send men to find the beghard who was known as Genevieve and the Englishman who calls himself Thomas. I want them brought here. I want them burned."

But not before I have talked with them." A new voice spoke, a voice as cutting as it was cold, and the Bishop and Joscelyn, indeed every man in the hall, turned to the door where a stranger had appeared.

Joscelyn had been aware, ever since he had stalked away from the courtyard, of the sound of hooves, but he had thought nothing of it. The castle had been loud with comings and goings all morning, but now he realized that strangers must have arrived in Berat and a half-dozen of them were now in the doorway of the hall. Their leader was the man who had spoken and he was taller even than Joscelyn, and spare, with a hard, long, sallow face that was framed with black hair. He was dressed all in black. Black boots, black breeches, black jerkin, black cloak, black broad-brimmed hat and a sword scabbard sheathed in black cloth. Even his spurs were made from black metal and Joscelyn, who had as much religion in his soul as an inquisitor possessed mercy, felt a sudden urge to make the sign of the cross. Then, when the man removed his hat, he recognized him. It was the Harlequin, the mysterious knight who had made so much money on the tournament fields of Europe, the one man Joscelyn had never beaten. You're the Harlequin," Joscelyn said, accusation in his tone.

I am sometimes known by that name,“ the man said, and the bishop and all his clergy made the sign of the cross for the name meant that this man was beloved by the devil. Then the tall man took another step forward and added, But my real name, my lord, is Guy Vexille.”

The name meant nothing to Joscelyn, but the bishop and his clergy all crossed themselves a second time and the bishop held out his staff as if to defend himself.

And what the hell are you doing here?“ Joscelyn demanded. I have come. Vexille said, to bring light to the world.” And Joscelyn, fifteenth Count of Berat, shivered. He did not know why. He just knew he was frightened of the man called the Harlequin who had come to bring light to the darkness. The bone-setter claimed she could not do much, and whatever she did do caused Genevieve excruciating pain, but after it was done, and when her shoulder and left breast were soaked with new blood, Brother Clement gently cleaned her and then poured honey onto the wound, which he bound up with sacking again. The good thing was that Genevieve was suddenly ravenously hungry and she ate whatever Thomas brought her, though God knew that was little enough for his own raid on Astarac had left the village bereft of food and the monastery's supplies had been depleted to feed the villagers. Still, there was some cheese, pears, bread and honey, and Brother Clement made more mushroom soup. The lepers, clappers sounding, went into the woods to find the mushrooms that were served to all the monks. Twice a day some of them rattled their way around the back of the monastery and up a flight of steps into a bare stone room where a small window overlooked the altar of the abbey church. This was where they were permitted to worship and Thomas, on his second and third day after his talk with Abbot Planchard, went with them. He did not go willingly, for his excommunication meant he was no longer welcome in any church, but Brother Clement would pluck his arm insistently, then smile with genuine pleasure when Thomas indulged him. Genevieve came with him on the day after the bone-setter had made her scream. She could walk well enough, though she was still weak and could scarcely move her left arm. Yet the arrow had missed her lungs and that, Thomas decided, was why she had lived. That and Brother Clement's care. I thought I was going to die. she confessed to Thomas.

He remembered the coming plague. He had heard no more about it and, for the moment, he did not tell Genevieve. You won't die. he told her, but you must move the arm.“ I can't. It hurts.”

You must. he said. When his own arms and hands had been scarred by the torturer he had thought he would never use them again, but his friends, Robbie chief among them, had forced him to practise with the bow. It had seemed hopeless at first, yet little by little the ability had come back. He wondered where Robbie was now, whether he had stayed at Castillon d'Arbizon, and that thought frightened him. Would Robbie seek him here at Astarac? Had friendship really turned to hate? And if not Robbie, who else might come? The news of his presence in the monastery would spread in the unseen way such news always did, tales told in taverns, pedlars carrying the gossip from one village to the next, and soon enough someone in Berat would take notice. We have to go soon," he told Genevieve.

Where?"

A long way away. England, perhaps?" He knew he had failed. He would not find the Grail here and, even if his cousin did come, how could Thomas defeat him? He was one man with only a wounded woman to help him and Guy Vexille travelled with a whole conroi of men-at-arms. The dream was over and it was time to go.

I'm told it's cold in England. Genevieve said.

The sun always shines. Thomas said gravely, the harvest never fails and fish jump straight from the rivers into the frying pan. Genevieve smiled. Then you must teach me English.

You know some already.

I know goddamn. she said, and I know goddamn bloody, bloody goddamn and Christ goddamn bloody help us.

Thomas laughed. You've learned archers" English. he said, but I'll teach you the rest.

He decided they would leave next day. He made a bundle of his arrows, then he cleaned the caked blood from Genevieve's coat of mail. He borrowed a pair of pincers from the monastery's carpenter and did his best to mend the mail where the crossbow bolt had pierced it, bending and closing the shattered links until at least they were crudely joined, though the rent was still obvious. He tethered the horses in the olive grove to let them graze and then, because it was still early in the afternoon, he walked south to the castle. He was determined to have one last glimpse of the stronghold where his ancestors had been lords. He met Philin as he left the monastery. The coredor had brought his son from the infirmary and, with the boy's leg firmly splinted with a half-dozen of the chestnut stakes used to hold the monastery's vines, he had put him on a horse and was leading him southwards. I don't want to stay here too long,“ he told Thomas. I'm still wanted for murder.”

Tlanchard would give you sanctuary. Thomas insisted. He would," Philin agreed, but that wouldn't stop my wife's family sending men to kill me. We're safer in the hills. His leg will mend there as well as anywhere. And if you're looking for refuge . . .

Me?" Thomas was surprised by the offer.

We can always use a good archer."

I think I'll go home. Home to England."

God look after you anyway, my friend," Philin said, then he struck off to the west and Thomas walked south through the village where some of the folk made the sign of the cross which was evidence enough that they knew who he was, but none tried to take revenge on him for the harm his men had caused. They might have wanted such a revenge, but he was tall, strong and wearing a long sword at his belt. He climbed the path to the ruins and noticed that three men had followed him. He paused to face them, but they made no hostile move, just watched him from a safe distance.

It was a good place for a castle, Thomas thought. Certainly better than Castillon d'Arbizon. Astarac's stronghold was built on a crag and could only be approached by the narrow path he had climbed to the broken gate. Once past the gate the crag had originally been topped by a curtain wall encircling the courtyard, though that was now nothing more than heaps of mossy stone that were never higher than a man's waist. An oblong of broken walls with a semi circular extension at their eastern end showed where the chapel had been and Thomas, walking the wide flagstones beneath which his ancestors were buried, saw that those stones had been disturbed recently. Raw marks betrayed where they had been prised up. He thought of trying to raise one of the flagstones himself, but knew he had neither the time nor the tools, and so he walked on to the western side of the crag where the old keep had stood, a broken tower now, hollow to the wind and rain. He turned when he reached the old tower and saw how his three followers had lost interest in him when he left the chapel. Were they there to guard something? The Grail? That thought seethed like a bolt of fire in his veins, but then he dismissed it. There was no Grail, he thought. It was his father's madness that had touched him with its hopeless dream. A shattered stair was built into one flank of the tower and Thomas took it as far as he could climb, which was only to where the missing first floor had spanned the hollow shaft. There was a great gaping hole in the tower wall there, a wall that was over five feet thick, and Thomas could walk into the space. He stared down the valley, following the line of the stream with his eyes and he tried once more to feel some sense of belonging. He tried to snare the echoes of his ancestors, but there was nothing. He had felt emotion when he went back to Hookton, the little of it that remained, but here, nothing. And the thought that Hookton, like this castle, was in ruins made him wonder if there was a curse on the Vexilles. The country folk here claimed that dragas, the devil's women, left flowers where they walked, but did the Vexilles leave ruins? Maybe the Church was right after all. Maybe he deserved to be excommunicated. He turned to look west in the direction he must travel if he was to go home.

And saw the horsemen.

They were on the western ridge, way to the north of him, coming, he thought, from the direction of Berat. There was a large band of them, and they were soldiers right enough for what had caught his eye was the glint of light reflecting from a helmet or mail coat.

He stared, not wanting to believe what he saw, and then, coming to his senses, he ran. He went down the stairs, across the weed thick courtyard, out through the ruined gate where he barged past the three men, and then down the path. He ran through the village and then northwards and he was out of breath by the time he banged on the gate of the lazar house. Brother Clement opened it and Thomas pushed past him. Soldiers,“ he said in curt expla nation, then he went into the hut and picked up his bow, the bundled arrows, their cloaks and mail and bags. Come quick. he told Genevieve, who was carefully ladling some of Brother Clement's newly gathered honey into small jars. Don't ask. he told her, just come. Bring the saddles.”

They went back outside to the olive grove, but Thomas, looking around, saw soldiers on the road in the valley north of Saint Sever's. Those men were still some way off, but if they saw two people riding from the monastery they would be bound to follow, which meant there could be no escape now, just concealment. He hesitated, thinking. What is it?" Genevieve asked.

Soldiers. Probably from Berat."

There, too. She was looking south, towards the castle, and Thomas saw the villagers hurrying towards the monastery for refuge and that surely meant there were armed men approaching their houses.

He swore. Leave the saddles. he told her and, when she had dropped them, he pulled her round the back of the monastery, following the lepers" path to the church. Someone had begun to toll the monastery bell to warn the brethren that armed strangers had come to their valley.

And Thomas knew why. Knew that if they were found they would both burn in the holy fire and so he ran into the lepers'

part of the church and climbed the short flight of stairs to the window that overlooked the altar. He pushed his bow through, sent the arrows after it, then the rest of the baggage, and clambered up himself. It was a tight fit, but he squeezed through and dropped clumsily and painfully onto the flagstones. Come on!" he urged Genevieve. People were coming into the church, thronging the door at the far end of the nave.

Genevieve hissed with pain as she scrambled through the small window. She looked frightened at the drop, but Thomas was beneath and he caught her. This way. He picked up his bow and bags and led her down the side of the choir and then behind the side altar where the statue of Saint Benedict stared sadly towards the frightened villagers.

The door in the alcove was locked as Thomas expected it to be, but they were hidden here and he did not think anyone had noticed them slip through the shadowed choir. He raised his right leg and kicked his heel against the lock. The noise was huge, a drum bang echoing in the church, and the door shook violently, but did not open. He kicked again, harder, then a third time and was rewarded by a splintering noise as the lock's tongue tore out the old wood of the frame. Tread carefully,“ he warned her, and he led her down the stairs into the darkness of the bone house. He groped his way to the eastern end, where the arched niche was only half full of bones, and he threw his belongings to the back of the pile, then hoisted Genevieve up. Go to the back,” he told her, and start digging."

He knew he could not climb up himself without spilling dozens of ribs and thigh bones and arm bones, and so he went along the cellar and pulled down stacks of bones. Skulls bounced and rolled, arms and legs clattered, and when the cellar was a mess of scattered skeletons he went back to Genevieve, scrambled up and

helped her delve down into the old bones closest to the wall. They made a hole there, pulling the rib cages and pelvises and shoulder blades apart, scrabbling ever deeper until at last they had made a deep, dark hiding place among the dead.

And there, in the blackness, cradled by the bones, they waited. And heard the broken door squeal on its hinges. Saw the small flickering light of a lantern cast grotesque shadows on the arched ceiling.

And heard the mailed footsteps of the men who had come to find them, to take them, and to kill them.

Sir Henri Courtois was ordered to take thirty-three crossbowmen and forty-two men-at-arms to Castillon d'Arbizon where he was to lay siege to the castle. Sir Henri accepted the orders glumly. I can lay siege. he told Joscelyn, but I can't capture the castle. Not with that small force."

The English managed it. Joscelyn said acidly.

Your uncle's garrison was sleeping. Sir Henri said, but Sir Guillaume d'Evecque will not be so obliging. He's got a reputation, a good one." Sir Henri knew who commanded at Castillon d'Arbizon because Robbie had told him, and had also told him how many men were under Sir Guillaume's command.

Joscelyn jabbed a finger into the older man's chest. I do not want one more archer raiding my territory. Stop them. And give the bastards this. He handed Sir Henri a sealed parchment. It gives them two days to leave the castle. Joscelyn explained airily, and if they agree to its terms, you can let them go.“ Sir Henri took the parchment, but paused before putting it in his pouch. And the ransom?” he asked.

Joscelyn glared at him, but honour decreed that Sir Guillaume should receive a third of the money that had ransomed the new Count and Sir Henri's question was therefore a proper one and so Joscelyn answered it, but curtly. The ransom's there. he said, nodding at the parchment, all there."

It's here?" Sir Henri asked, astonished, for the message plainly contained no coins.

Just go!" Joscelyn snapped.

Sir Henri left the same day that Guy Vexille took his own men to Astarac. Joscelyn was glad to see the back of the Harlequin, for Vexille was an uncomfortable presence even though his men-at arms were a welcome addition to the Count's forces. Vexille had brought forty-eight soldiers, all well mounted, well armoured and well armed, and he had surprised Joscelyn by not demanding a single ecu as payment. I have my own funds,“ he had said coldly. Forty-eight men-at-arms?” Joscelyn wondered aloud. That takes money."

They were a heretic family, my lord," his uncle's old chaplain had maintained, as if that explained the Harlequin's wealth, but Vexille had come equipped with a letter from Louis Bessieres, Cardinal Archbishop of Livorno, and that proved he was no heretic. Not that Joscelyn would have cared if Vexille worshipped wooden idols every night and sacrificed weeping virgins at each dawn. He was far more worried by the fact that the Vexilles had once been the lords of Astarac. He confronted Vexille with that, unable to hide his fear that the black-dressed knight had come to reclaim his ancestral lands.

The Harlequin had merely looked bored. Astarac has been in your lordship's fief for a hundred years,“ he said,” so how could I hold that honour?"

Then why are you here?" Joscelyn demanded.

I fight for the Church now,“ Vexille said, and my task is to hunt a fugitive who must be taken to justice. And when he is found, my lord, we shall leave your domain.” He turned because a sword had just been drawn, the sound of the blade scraping on the scabbard's throat unnaturally loud in the great hall. Robbie Douglas had just entered the room. He now pointed the drawn weapon at Vexille. You were in Scotland. he said threateningly.

Vexille looked the young man up and down and seemed unworried by the blade. I have visited many countries," he said coldly,

including Scotland."

You killed my brother."

No!“ Joscelyn placed himself between the two men. You swore my oath, Robbie.”

I swore an oath to kill that bastard!“ Robbie said. No,” Joscelyn said again, and he took Robbie's blade in his hand and forced it down. In truth Joscelyn would not have been upset if Robbie had died, but if Guy Vexille was killed his black-cloaked men-at-arms might take vengeance on Joscelyn and his men. You can kill him when he's finished here. That is a promise." Vexille smiled at the promise. He and his men left next morning, and Joscelyn was pleased to be rid of them. It was not just Guy Vexille he found chilling, but also his companions, especially the one who did not carry a lance or shield. His name was Charles, a man of startling ugliness, who looked as though he had been plucked from some dark gutter, brushed down, given a knife and released to spread fear. Charles led his own smaller band of a dozen men-at-arms who all rode with Vexille when he went south to Astarac.

So Sir Henri had gone to rid the county of the impudent English garrison at Castillon d'Arbizon and Vexille was hunting his heretic in Astarac, which left Joscelyn free to enjoy his inheritance in Berat. Robbie Douglas was one of his many companions, and for the next few days they simply enjoyed themselves. There was money to be spent on clothes, weapons, horses, wine, women, anything that caught Joscelyn's fancy, but some things could not be purchased in Berat itself and so a craftsman was summoned to the castle. The man's usual job was making plaster saints that were sold to churches, convents, and monasteries, but his task in the castle was to make casts of Joscelyn's body. He wrapped the Count's arms in greased muslin, coated them with plaster, then did the same for Joscelyn's legs and trunk. A tailor had also been summoned and he made measurements of the Count's body that were noted down by a clerk. So many inches from shoulder to hip bone, from hip bone to knee, from shoulder to elbow, and when the measurements were taken they were copied onto a parchment and sealed in a great box in which the plaster casts were packed in sawdust, and the box was dispatched under the guard of four men-at-arms to Milan where Antonio Givani, the finest armourer in Christendom, was commanded to make a complete set of plate armour. Let it be a masterpiece,“ Joscelyn dictated the letter to a clerk, the envy of all other knights,” and he sent a generous payment in genoins with a promise of many more if the armour arrived before spring.

r

He had paid Robbie his ransom in the same coins, but on the night that the men-at-arms left for Turin, Robbie was foolish enough to admire a set of ivory dice that Joscelyn had purchased in the town. You like them?“ Joscelyn asked. I'll roll you for them. Highest number keeps the dice.”

Robbie shook his head. I've sworn an oath to keep from gambling. he explained.

Joscelyn thought that the funniest thing he had heard in months. Women make oaths,“ he said, and monks have to, but warriors only make oaths of brotherhood for battle.”

Robbie blushed. I promised a priest. he said.

Oh, sweet Jesus!“ Joscelyn leaned back in his chair. You can't face risk, is that it? Is that why the Scots lose to the English?” Robbie's temper flared, but he had the sense to curb it and said nothing. Risk. Joscelyn said airily, is the soldier's fate. If a man can't abide risk he can't be a soldier."

I'm a soldier. Robbie said flatly.

Then prove it, my friend. Joscelyn said, rolling the dice across the table.

So Robbie played and lost. And lost the next night. And the next. And on the fourth night he gambled the money that was supposed to be sent to England to purchase his ransom and he lost that too, and next day Joscelyn heard that the Italian gunners, whom his uncle had summoned from Youlouse, had come to the castle with their machine and Joscelyn paid them their fee out of the money he had won from Robbie. How soon can you go to Castillon d'Arbizon?“ he demanded of the Italians. Tomorrow, sire?”

The thing is ready?" Joscelyn asked, walking round the wagon on which the gun, shaped like a flask with a narrow neck and a bulbous body, was lashed.

It's ready. the Italian, whose name was Gioberti, confirmed. You have powder?"

Gioberti gestured at the second wagon, loaded perilously high with kegs.

And missiles? Balls?"

Bolts, my lord. Gioberti corrected him, and pointed at yet another wagon. We have more than enough."

Then we shall all go!" Joscelyn said enthusiastically. He was fascinated by the cannon, a thing as ugly as it was impressive. It was nine feet long, four feet across the bulbous breech, and had a squat, evil air. It looked devilish, an unnatural thing, and he was tempted to demand a demonstration right there in the castle's courtyard, but he understood that such a demonstration would take precious time. Better to watch the device in action against the stubborn fools in Castillon d'Arbizon.

Sir Henri Courtois was already beginning that siege. When he reached the town he left his crossbowmen and men-at-arms outside the western gate and rode to the castle with only a young priest for company. He called up to the sentinels on the wall and, when Sir Guillaume saw it was only a single man-at-arms and a priest who wanted entrance he gave permission for the gates to be opened.

Sir Guillaume met the two men in the courtyard where Sir Henri dismounted and named himself. Sir Guillaume returned the courtesy, then the two men sized each other up. Each recognized the other as a soldier like himself. I come from the Count of Berat. Sir Henri said formally.

Bring the money, did you?“ Sir Guillaume demanded. I brought what I was ordered to bring and I doubt it will make you happy. Sir Henri said, then he took a long professional look at the archers and men-at-arms who had come to see the visitors. Tough bastards, he thought, before looking back to Sir Guillaume. I'm tired,” he said. Been riding all day. Do you have any wine in this place?"

Berat's short of wine, is he?“ Sir Guillaume asked. He's short of sense,” Sir Henri said, but not of wine.“ Sir Guillaume smiled. Inside,” he said, then led his guest up the keep stairs to the upper hall and, because this conversation would affect the destiny of all the garrison, he allowed those men who were not on guard to follow and listen.

Sir Guillaume and Sir Henri sat either side of the long table. The priest, who was there as a token that Sir Henri meant no harm, sat as well, while the men-at-arms and archers stood against the wall. The fire was revived, wine and food served, and as that was being done Sir Henri unlooped the shield from about his neck, unbuckled his breastplate and backplate and laid them all on the floor. He stretched, then nodded thanks for the wine which he drained. Finally he took the sealed parchment from his pouch and pushed it across the table.

Sir Guillaume lifted the seal with his knife, unfolded the document and read it. He did so slowly, for he was not a good reader, and when he had read it twice he looked angrily at Sir Henri. What the hell does this mean?"

I've not seen it,“ Sir Henri confessed. May I?” He reached for the parchment and the watching men of the garrison made a low threatening noise, sensing Sir Guillaume's fury.

Sir Henri could not read so he gave the parchment to the priest who tilted it towards one of the high narrow windows. The priest was a very young man and nervous. He read it, glanced at the horribly scarred Sir Guillaume and looked even more nervous. Tell us what it says,“ Sir Henri said. No one's going to kill you. It says two things,” the priest said. That Sir Guillaume and his men have two days to leave Castillon d'Arbizon unmolested.“ The other thing,” Sir Guillaume snarled.

The priest frowned. It is a draft of money from a man called Robert Douglas. he explained to Sir Henri, and if Sir Guillaume presents it to Jacques Fournier then he will be paid six thousand, six hundred and sixty florins. He put the document onto the table as though it was smeared with poison.

Who, in Christ's name,“ Sir Guillaume asked, is Jacques Fournier?”

A goldsmith in Berat. Sir Henri explained, and I doubt Jacques has that much cash in his cellars.

Robbie arranged this?“ Sir Guillaume asked angrily. Robbie Douglas is sworn to the Lord of Berat now. Sir Henri said. He had watched the brief ceremony when Robbie had sworn his allegiance, he had seen the kisses exchanged and noticed the look of triumph on Joscelyn's face. This is my lord's doing. He thinks we're fools?”

He thinks you won't dare show your faces in Berat. Sir Henri said.

Cheated! Jesus Christ! We've been cheated!“ Sir Guillaume glared at his visitors. Is this what passes for honour in Berat?” he

demanded, and when Sir Henri offered no answer, Sir Guillaume thumped the table. I could hold you two prisoner!" The men around the walls growled their agreement.

You could. Sir Henri agreed equably, and I wouldn't blame you. But the Count won't ransom me and he certainly won't ransom him.“ He nodded at the timid priest. We'll just be two more mouths to feed.”

Or two more corpses to bury,“ Sir Guillaume retorted. Sir Henri shrugged. He knew that the offer of money from the goldsmith's cellars was dishonourable, but it was not of his doing. So you can tell your master,” Sir Guillaume said, that we'll leave this castle when we have six thousand, six hundred and sixty florins. And every week you make us wait the price goes up by another hundred."

His men murmured approval. Sir Henri did not seem surprised by the decision. I'm here. he told Sir Guillaume, to make sure you don't leave. Unless you wish to go today or tomorrow?“ We stay,” Sir Guillaume said. It was not a decision he had thought about, and he might have chosen differently had he been given the time to think, but being cheated of money was a sure way to rouse his pugnacity. We stay, damn it!“ Sir Henri nodded. Then I stay also.” He pushed the parchment across the table. I'll send a message to my lord and tell him that it would be sensible for young Douglas to pay the coins, that it will save money and lives if he does."

Sir Guillaume took the parchment and thrust it into his jerkin. You're staying?“ he asked. Where?”

Sir Henri looked at the men against the wall. These were not men he could surprise by a sudden escalade. Besides, Sir Henri's own men were mostly the forces of the old Count and they had grown lazy, no match for this garrison. You can hold the castle. he told Sir Guillaume, but you don't have enough men to garrison the two town gates. You're leaving that to the constables and watchmen. So I'll take over from them. You can always fight your way through, of course, but I'll have crossbowmen on the gate towers and men-at-arms under the arches.

You've faced English bowmen?“ Sir Guillaume asked threateningly. Sir Henri nodded. In Flanders,” he said, and I didn't enjoy it. But how many archers can you afford to lose in a street brawl?"

Sir Guillaume acknowledged the sense of that. Send his archers against the town gates and they would be fighting at close quarters, shooting up from gardens, yards and windows, and Sir Henri's crossbowmen would be crouched behind their pavises or behind windows in the houses and some of their quarrels would be bound to hit. In a few minutes Sir Guillaume could lose four or five bowmen and that would seriously weaken him. You can have the town gates," he allowed.

Sir Henri poured himself more wine. I've got forty-two men at-arms,“ he revealed, and thirty-three crossbows, and all the usual servants and women and clerks. They all need shelter. Winter's coming.”

So freeze. Sir Guillaume suggested.

We could do that,“ Sir Henri agreed, but I propose you let us use the houses between the west gate and Saint Gallic's church, and I'll guarantee we won't use any building east of Wheelwright's Alley or south of Steep Street.”

You know the town?" Sir Guillaume asked.

I was castellan here once. Long time ago."

Then you know about the mill gate?" Sir Guillaume was referring to the small door in the town wall that led to the water mill,

the gate that Thomas and Genevieve had used to escape. I know about it,“ Sir Henri said, but it's too close to the castle and if I put men to guard it then your archers can skewer them from the tower's top.” He paused to drink the wine. If you want me to besiege you, I can. I'll close my men up to the castle and let the crossbows practise on your sentries, but you know and I know that we'll only kill men and you'll still be inside. I assume you have food?"

More than enough."

Sir Henri nodded. So I'll stop your horsemen leaving by the two big gates. You can still slip men out of the mill gate, but so long as they don't interfere with me, I'll not notice them. You've got nets in the mill pond?"

We do."

I'll leave them alone. Sir Henri offered. I'll tell my men the mill's out of bounds to them."

Sir Guillaume thought about it, drumming his fingers on the table's edge. There was a continual small murmur from the men against the wall as the French conversation was translated into English. You can have the houses between the west gate and Saint Gallic's church. Sir Guillaume agreed after a moment, but what about the taverns?"

Essential things. Sir Henri acknowledged.

My men like the Three Cranes."

It's a good house. Sir Henri said.

So your men stay away from it. Sir Guillaume demanded. Agreed, but they can use the Bear and Butcher?“ Agreed. Sir Guillaume said, but we'd also better insist now that no man can carry swords or bows to either.” Knives only. Sir Henri said, that's sensible. Neither man wanted drunken soldiers conducting wild forays in the night. And if any problems crop up. Sir Henri added, I'll come and talk to you.“ He paused, frowning as he tried to remember something. You were in Flanders, weren't you? With the Count of Coutances?” I was in Flanders. Sir Guillaume confirmed, with that spavined, gutless bastard." The Count, his liege lord, had treacherously turned against him and taken his land.

They're all bastards. Sir Henri said. But the old Count of Berat wasn't bad. He was mean, of course, and spent his life poking into books. Books! What use are they? He knew every book in Christendom, he did, and had read most of them twice, but he didn't have the sense of a chicken! You know what he was doing in Astarac?“ Looking for the Holy Grail?” Sir Guillaume asked. Exactly. Sir Henri said and both men laughed. Your friend's there now. Sir Henri added.

Robbie Douglas?" Sir Guillaume asked coldly. He had no love for Robbie now.

Not him, he's at Berat. No, the archer and his heretic woman. Thomas?“ Sir Guillaume could not hide his surprise. At Astarac? I told him to go home.”

Well, he didn't. Sir Henri said. He's in Astarac. Why didn't he just burn the girl?"

He's in love."

With the heretic? So he's a prick-for-brains, is he? He won't have either soon."

He won't?"

Some bastard's come from Paris. Got a small army. Gone to catch him, which means there'll be fires in Berat's marketplace before long. You know what a priest told me once? That women burn brighter then men. Strange that.“ Sir Henri pushed his chair back and stood. So we're agreed?”

We're agreed. Sir Guillaume said and leaned over the table to shake the other man's hand. Then Sir Henri picked up his armour and shield and beckoned the priest to follow him to the courtyard where he gazed up at the sky. Looks like rain.“ Get your armour under cover,” Sir Guillaume advised, knowing the advice was not needed.

And light some fires, eh? Coldest autumn I can remember here. Sir Henri went. The gates slammed shut and Sir Guillaume climbed laboriously to the top of the castle keep. But he was not looking to watch where his amenable enemy was going, but east towards unseen Astarac, and wondering what he could do to help Thomas.

Nothing, he thought, nothing. And doubtless, he reckoned, the bastard from Paris was Guy Vexille, the man called the Harlequin, who had once given Sir Guillaume three wounds. Three wounds needing vengeance, but Sir Guillaume could do nothing now. For he was besieged and Thomas, he reckoned, was doomed. Charles Bessieres and a half-dozen of his men went to the ossuary beneath the abbey church in search of plunder. One carried a burning candle and, by its uncertain light, they began hauling down the serried bones, evidently expecting to discover treasure, though all they revealed were more bones, but then one of them discovered the small chamber at the vault's western end and shouted in triumph because it contained the big iron-bound chest. One of the men forced the chest's lock with his sword and Bessieres seized the silver paten and the candlestick. Is that all?“ he asked, disappointed. Another of his men found the grail box, but none of them could read and even if they could they would not have understood the Latin inscription and when they saw the box was empty they hurled it back down the vault to fall among the scattered bones. Charles Bessieres then picked up the leather bag that supposedly contained Saint Agnes's girdle. He swore when he found it contained nothing but a length of embroidered linen, but the bag was big enough to hold the plundered silver. They've hidden their wealth,” Bessieres said.

Or they're poor," one of his men suggested.

They're bloody monks! Of course they're rich.“ Bessieres hung the bag of silver at his waist. Go and find their damned abbot,” he told two of his men, and we'll beat the truth out of the bastard.“ You will do nothing of the sort.” A new voice spoke and the men in the treasury chamber turned to see that Guy Vexille had come down to the ossuary. He was holding a lantern and its light glinted dark from his black-lacquered plate armour. He held the lantern high and looked at the tumbled bones. Have you no respect for the dead?"

Fetch the abbot.“ Charles Bessieres ignored Vexille's question and spoke to his men instead. Bring him here.” I have already sent for the abbot,“ Vexille said, and you will not beat any truth from him.”

You don't command me," Bessieres bridled.

But I command my sword. Vexille said calmly, and if you cross me then I shall slit your belly open and spill your foul guts to feed the worms. You are here merely as your brother's watchman, nothing else, but if you wish to do something useful then go to the lazar house and search it for the Englishman. But don't kill him! Bring him to me. And put that silver back where you found it." He nodded at the neck of the candlestick that protruded from the leather bag at Bessieres's waist.

Vexille was alone and facing seven men, but such was his confidence that none thought to oppose him. Even Charles Bessieres,

who feared few men, meekly put the silver down. But I'm not leaving this valley empty-handed,“ he growled as a parting defiance. I trust, Bessieres,” Vexille said, that we shall leave this valley with the greatest treasure of Christendom in our keeping. Now go."

Vexille grimaced when the men went. He put the lantern on the floor and started putting the bones back in their alcoves, but he stopped when footsteps sounded on the steps. He turned then and watched as Planchard, tall and white-robed, came down to the ossuary.

I apologize for this,“ Vexille said, indicating the bones. They were ordered to leave the abbey untouched.”

Planchard said nothing about the desecration; he just made the sign of the cross and then stooped to retrieve the bag of silver. This passes for our treasury,“ he said, but we have never been a wealthy house. Still, you are welcome to steal these poor things.” I did not come here to steal," Vexille said.

Then why are you here?" Planchard demanded.

Vexille ignored the question. My name,“ he said instead, is Guy Vexille, Count of Astarac.”

So your men told me,“ Planchard said, when they summoned me to your presence.” He said the last words calmly as if to suggest he took no offence at such an indignity. But I think I would have recognized you anyway."

You would?" Vexille sounded surprised.

Your cousin was here. A young Englishman.“ The abbot carried the silver back to the chest, then rescued the strip of linen, which he kissed reverently. The two of you,” he went on, bear a remarkable resemblance to each other."

Except he's bastard born,“ Vexille said angrily, and a heretic.” And you are neither?“ Planchard asked calmly. I serve Cardinal Archbishop Bessieres,” Vexille said, and His Eminence sent me here to find my cousin. Do you know where he is?"

No,“ Planchard said. He sat down on the bench and took a small string of prayer beads from a pocket of his white gown. He was here though?”

Certainly he was here last night,“ Planchard said, but where he is now?” The abbot shrugged. I advised him to leave. I knew men would come searching for him, if only for the pleasure of watching him burn, so I told him to hide himself. I would suggest that he is gone to the woods and your search will be difficult.“ It was your duty. Vexille said harshly, to give him to the Church.”

I have always tried to do my duty to the Church. Planchard said, and sometimes I have failed, but doubtless God will punish me for those failings.

Why was he here?" Vexille asked.

I think you know that, my lord. Planchard said, and there was, perhaps, a hint of mockery in the last two words.

The Grail. Vexille said. Planchard said nothing. He just counted his prayer beads, running them through his thumb and forefinger as he looked at the tall young man in black armour. The Grail was here. Vexille said.

Was it?" Planchard asked.

It was brought here. Vexille insisted.

I know nothing of it. Planchard said.

I think you do. Vexille retorted. It was brought here before the fall of Montsegur, brought here to keep it safe. But then the French crusaders came to Astarac and the Grail was taken away again.

Planchard smiled. This all happened before I was born. How would I know of it?"

Seven men took the grail away. Vexille said.

The seven dark lords. Planchard said, smiling. I have heard that story."

Two of them were Vexilles. Guy Vexille said, and four of them were knights who had fought for the Cathars."

Seven men fleeing the forces of France and the Church's crusaders. Planchard said musingly, into a Christendom that hated them. I doubt they survived.

And the seventh man. Vexille ignored the abbot's words, was the Lord of Mouthoumet.

Which was always an insignificant fief. Planchard said dismissively," scarce able to support two knights from its mountain

pastures."

The Lord of Mouthoumet. Vexille went on, was a heretic." He turned suddenly for a noise had come from deep in the ossuary. It had sounded something like a stifled sneeze and was followed by a rattle of bones. He lifted the lantern and walked back to where the arches had been desecrated.

There are rats here. Planchard said. The abbey's drains cross the end of the vault and we believe some of the brickwork has collapsed. You often hear strange noises down here. Some of the more superstitious brethren believe they are made by ghosts.“ Vexille was standing among the bones, the lantern held high, listening. He heard nothing more and so turned back to the abbot. The Lord of Mouthoumet,” he said, was one of the seven. And his name was Planchard." Vexille paused. My lord. he added mockingly.

Planchard smiled. He was my grandfather. He did not ride with the others, but went to Youlouse and threw himself on the mercy of the Church. He was lucky, I think, not to be burned, but he was reconciled with the true faith even though it cost him his fief, his title and what passed for his fortune. He died in a monastery. The tale was told in our family, of course it was, but we never saw the Grail and I can assure you that I know nothing of it." Yet you are here. Guy Vexille accused the abbot harshly. True. Planchard acknowledged. And I am here by design. I first entered this house as a young man and I came here because the tales of the dark lords intrigued me. One of them was supposed to have taken the Grail, and the others were sworn to protect him, but my grandfather claimed he never saw the cup. Indeed, he thought it did not exist, but was merely invented to tantalize the Church. The crusaders had destroyed the Cathars and the revenge of the dark lords was to make them think they had destroyed the Grail along with the heresy. That, I think, is the devil's work.

So you came here. Vexille asked scornfully, because you did not believe the Grail existed?"

No, I came here because if ever the descendants of the dark lords were to seek the Grail then they would come here, I knew that, and I wanted to see what would happen. But that curiosity died long ago. God gave me many years, He was pleased to make me abbot, and He has enfolded me in His mercy. And the Grail? I confess I searched for memories of it when I first came here, and my abbot chided me for that, but God brought me to my senses. I now think my grandfather was right and that it is a tale invented to spite the Church and a mystery to make men mad." It existed. Vexille said.

Then I pray to God that I find it. Planchard said, and when I do I shall hide it in the deepest ocean so that no more folk will ever die in its pursuit. But what would you do with the Grail, Guy Vexille?"

Use it. Vexille said harshly.

For what?"

To cleanse the world of sin.

That would be a great work. Planchard said, but even Christ could not achieve it.

Do you abandon weeding between the vines simply because the weeds always grow back?" Vexille asked.

No, of course not.

Then Christ's work must go on. Vexille said.

The abbot watched the soldier for a time. You are Christ's instrument? Or Cardinal Bessieres's tool?"

Vexille grimaced. The Cardinal is like the Church, Planchard. Cruel, corrupt and evil.

Planchard did not contradict him. So?"

So a new Church is needed. A clean Church, a sinless Church, a Church filled with honest men who live in God's fear. The Grail will bring that.

Planchard smiled. The Cardinal, I am sure, would not approve. The Cardinal sent his brother here. Vexille said, and doubt less he has orders to kill me when I have been useful. And your usefulness is what?"

To find the Grail. And to do that, I must first find my cousin. You think he knows where it is?"

I think his father possessed it. Guy Vexille said, and I think the son knows of it.

He thinks the same of you. Planchard said. And I think the two of you are like blind men who each thinks the other can see. Vexille laughed at that. Thomas. he said, is a fool. He brought men to Gascony for what? To find the Grail? Or to find me? But he failed and now he's a fugitive. A good few of his men have pledged their allegiance to the Count of Berat and the rest are trapped at Castillon d'Arbizon and how long will they last? Two months? He has failed, Planchard, failed. He might be blind, but I see, and I will have him and I will take what he knows. But what do you know?"

I have told you. Nothing."

Vexille paced back to the chamber and stared at the abbot. I could put you to the torture, old man."

You could,“ Planchard agreed mildly, and I would doubtless scream to be spared the torment, but you will find no more truth in those screams than I have told you willingly here.” He tucked his beads away and stood to his full height. And I would beg you in the name of Christ to spare this community. It knows nothing of the Grail, it can tell you nothing, and it can give you nothing.“ And I will spare nothing,” Vexille said, in the service of God. Nothing.“ He drew his sword. Planchard watched expressionless, and did not even flinch as the sword was pointed at him. Swear on this,” Vexille said, that you know nothing of the Grail.“ I have told you all I know. Planchard said and, instead of touching the sword, he raised the wooden crucifix that hung about his neck, and kissed it. I will not swear on your sword, but I do make oath on my dear Lord's cross that I know nothing of the Grail.”

But your family still betrayed us,“ Vexille said. Betrayed you?”

Your grandfather was one of the seven. He recanted.“ So he betrayed you? By cleaving to the true faith?” Planchard frowned. Are you telling me you keep the Cathar heresy, Guy Vexille?"

We come to bring light to the world,“ Vexille said, and to purge it of the Church's foulness. I have kept the faith, Planchard.” Then you are the only man who has. Planchard said, and it is an heretical faith."

They crucified Christ for heresy. Vexille said," so to be named a heretic is to be one with Him. Then he rammed the blade forward, into the base of Planchard's throat, and the old man, amazingly, did not appear to put up any struggle, but just clutched his crucifix as the blood surged from his throat to turn his white robe red. He took a long time to die, but eventually he slumped over and Vexille withdrew his sword and wiped the blade clean on the hem of the abbot's robe. He sheathed the blade and picked up the lantern.

He glanced about the ossuary, but saw nothing to worry him and so he climbed the stairs. The door shut, cutting off all light. And Thomas and Genevieve, hidden in the dark, waited. They waited all night. It seemed to Thomas he did not sleep at all, but he must have dozed for he woke once when Genevieve sneezed. Her wound was hurting, but she said nothing of it, just waited and half slept.